The wall on which the prophets wrote is cracking at the seams. upon the instruments of death the sunlight brightly gleams. when every man is torn apart with nightmares and with dreams, will no one lay the laurel wreath when silence drowns the screams
Confusion will be my epitaph. as i crawl a cracked and broken path if we make it we can all sit back and laugh, but i fear tomorrow i'll be crying, yes i fear tomorrow i'll be crying.
Between the iron gates of fate, the seeds of time were sown, and watered by the deeds of those who know and who are known; knowledge is a deadly friend when no one sets the rules. the fate of all mankind i see is in the hands of fools.
The wall on which the prophets wrote
ResponEliminais cracking at the seams.
upon the instruments of death
the sunlight brightly gleams.
when every man is torn apart
with nightmares and with dreams,
will no one lay the laurel wreath
when silence drowns the screams
Confusion will be my epitaph.
as i crawl a cracked and broken path
if we make it we can all sit back and laugh,
but i fear tomorrow i'll be crying,
yes i fear tomorrow i'll be crying.
Between the iron gates of fate,
the seeds of time were sown,
and watered by the deeds of those
who know and who are known;
knowledge is a deadly friend
when no one sets the rules.
the fate of all mankind i see
is in the hands of fools.